


A Faded Flicker (Day One)

by galaxbee



Series: A Faded Flicker [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: And during the events of Here Lies The Abyss (after entering the Fade), Begins 2 weeks before season 2, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Not Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Season 2 Compliant, Wormholes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 16:40:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5672992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxbee/pseuds/galaxbee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You wish the words worked, wove phrases and sentences as easily as they do for everyone else. I can help.”</p><p>Fitz starts at the sound, turning with deft feet to face the direction the words had come from. He grabs at the table, fumbling for the welder he'd been using and holding it out in front of him, his hands shaking slightly. The figure who had spoken is slightly taller than Fitz himself, with broad shoulders, head bowed and face pale under the oversized hat. He's also far too close.</p><p>(He says his name is Cole, and that he is a spirit. Fitz isn't sure if that means he's real or not.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Faded Flicker (Day One)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dewsparkle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dewsparkle/gifts), [seeing_blue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seeing_blue/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I don't own or hold any rights to events or characters from the Agents of SHIELD and Dragon Age universes. I just really, really enjoy them.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this! It ran away from me, a bit, and I fully intend to continue this.

“ _Irritation and ire, anger at their lack of understanding. It's so simple, why can't I just explain it properly?_ You wish the words worked, wove phrases and sentences as easily as they do for everyone else. I can help.” Fitz starts at the sound, turning with deft feet to face the direction the words had come from.

He grabs at the table, fumbling for the welder he'd been using and holding it out in front of him, his hands shaking slightly. The figure who had spoken is slightly taller than Fitz himself, with broad shoulders, head bowed and face pale under the oversized hat. He's also far too close.

“ _Worry, waiting, wrought with anxiety. Don't move, who are you, how did you get here? Words fade in my mouth, unspoken stutters,_ ” the intruder says, and with a jolt of fear Fitz realises that they are his thoughts, his words.

The uneasiness grows, and his hands grow more firm around the tool, causing it to shake as much as him. Simmons isn't there, where did she go?

“Do-don't move,” he warns, and the stranger nods. He could be a new recruit, but none of them come into the lab. None of them talk to Fitz.

“I won't. I'm not here to hurt you. My name is Cole.”

It's said placatingly, as if speaking to a cornered animal, but Fitz keeps the makeshift weapon up. ‘Cole’ doesn't seem to be armed or posing any immediate danger, but he's still too close for comfort. Fitz takes a step back, and Cole rocks his posture backwards, still remaining balanced. Fitz releases a breath at the added distance, taking a moment to examine the intruder. He's wearing pants of a leather that Fitz doesn't recognise, and a belt of the same material on top of a sash tied at the front. The straps of two sheathes are strung across his chest, wrinkling the silky material of his shirt and flattening the edges of his jacket. It looks nothing like the clothes that SHIELD agents are usually found in, and removes any chance that Cole is a new recruit. Which begs the question...

“How-how did you get-get in here?” Fitz demands, voice shaking despite his attempts to keep a calm facade.

Cole seems confused at the question - or his answer to the question. He lifts his head slightly to look around the lab, and Fitz glimpses a blond fringe that brushes Cole’s cheekbones, unevenly cut and the length jagged. Cole returns his gaze to Fitz, his expression soft.

“I came to help," Cole states simply, as if it answers all of Fitz's questions.

Fitz is the one confused now. He tries to keep the shock off his face, but the welder drops slightly as his arms do. Cole looks at the tool uncomfortably, his eyes following the path and his face relaxing somewhat when he sees that the direction it is pointed is at the point where the sheath straps cross.

“He-help with what?” Fitz asks.

“The words don't work properly when you try to say them, and it frustrates you. If they listened, they would know, but they don't because they would rather forget it ever happened,” Cole explains, and the words are from Fitz’s mind, spoken better than he ever could say them.

“How… how are you doing that?” he asks, his scientific side showing as he loosens his grip on the welder further. But he keeps it prepared in case Cole shows any sign of harming him, the likelihood of which seems to be rapidly decreasing.

“I'm not going to hurt you. You don't need to worry. I’m a- a spirit, but more,” Cole says soothingly, and Fitz almost believes him.

“A spirit? Wha-what do you mean, like a…” he trails off, the word at the edge of his mind but unable to be said.

“I'm not a ghost,” Cole says, his brow furrowing, “I was compassion. I'm from the Fade, from Thedas. That's not here.”

He picks the word from Fitz’s mind as easily as Simmons, if it was never forgotten, as if he'd said it, and answering another of his questions, if not fully. Fitz feels like he should be angry at the fragmented sentence and simple words, but Cole seems… different.

“The-then where are you from? How did you get, uh, here?” Fitz asks, gesturing at the empty laboratory.

It's only ever him and Simmons in there, unless someone's there to be impatient. The white walls are sturdy, the glass thick, the door solid, and the white benches have no rims to hide under. Despite the focus Fitz had been applying to his tinkering, he would have noticed the door opening. He turns his attention back to Cole, who has returned to his previous position, his head raised further to reveal his eyes. He looks young, and his blue eyes are dark around the edges like he hasn't slept in weeks, but he’s balanced like he's used to fighting. Even so, his shoulders are slightly hunched, his posture relaxed, as if to make Fitz feel more at ease. It's working, Fitz admits to himself begrudgingly.

“There was an accident - they didn't mean to damage the walls, but they did, and I was pulled here. I heard your hurt and found you so that I could help solve it, ease the taught and tangles,” Cole tells him.

Fitz doesn't need to be a spirit to know that it's the truth, as Cole believes it to be. The words seem to hold meaning to the ‘spirit’, even as Fitz doesn't understand the entirety of the context. He begins analysing the information regardless. The Fade is likely to be some sort of external dimension or pocket universe, given the mention of walls. It’s entirely possible that, rather than being something supernatural, a spirit is what residents of ‘The Fade’ are known as. Damaging the walls would hint at something destabilising the structure of the dimension, thus allowing the formation of some kind of wormhole.

“Yes, you're right!” Cole says, pleased, and Fitz is glad for the recognition before realising that he never said any of it aloud.

What kind of thing is a spirit, that it can read his mind with such aptitude? If something happens, he won't be able to solve it, not without Simmons.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Cole exclaims, “I didn't explain. Varric says that I should explain what I can do, so that people are less scared. I don't want to scare anyone.”

He begins fidgeting with his fingers, weaving his hands together, still peering at Fitz curiously. Fitz feels bitter at the accusation of being afraid, his hand clenching around the welder until the metal bits into his palm.

“I'm not afraid!” Fitz tells him, “It's some sort of psychic...”

“Field, because it let me find you. I understand. I can't travel through walls, either - they didn't want to remember me, so I made them forget. It made more sense without me. You needed my help.” Cole finishes his sentence before Fitz even realises that he had lost the word to the depths of his mind.

Fitz finally relaxes his hand fully, placing the tool back in on the shelf, absent-mindedly organising the small area. Cole sees this and smiles, softly and purely, and Fitz returns the gesture. Cole practically beams before he turns to examine what Fitz had been working on previously. Fitz is surprised at how much the expression changes his face, making Cole look even younger than he does. He pointedly ignores the knife handles protruding from the sheaths.

“Oh, I disturbed you,” Cole remarks, lifting up the flask containing the small bit of metal, suspended in liquid. “You can keep on working on this. I'll stay in here, no one will see me.”

Fitz pauses before he nods, gesturing to one of the unoccupied chairs on the other side of the desk as he turns back to the flask Cole had gently returned to its place. He works for a few minutes, examining one of his other ongoing projects, as Cole watches the bubbles rise in another vial of liquid.

“That's weird, it should have started reacting by now… maybe the concentration isn't high enough, I should make another version with a larger…” Fitz mutters to himself as he examines the experiment.

The word falls away, and he rubs at his forehead before gesturing with his hand, as if it would summon the term from the depths of his mind.

“Dose?” Simmons suggests, but Fitz ignores her, glancing towards the other occupant of the room.

Cole gives no notice that he heard anything, having found a test tube of salt water filled with bioluminescent bacteria that he seems entirely occupied by. Fitz sighs in relief, before continuing in his mutters.

“Yeah, that. I’ll prepare it tomorrow, it won't take very long. I'll have time,” he says to himself and Simmons, who nods before looking over at Cole.

“So, he came through an alternate dimension called the Fade? It sounds absolutely fascinating! Imagine being able to study that place,” she remarks, “Do you think all spirits look so human?”

Fitz considers ignoring her, but then Cole speaks.

“You know she's not real, this time, but you'd like her to be. She's quieter, softer than the real people, but your mind makes her more real than not real. You like having someone that understands.”

Fitz realises with a start that Cole has begun looking right at Simmons, returning her gaze with slight fascination.

“You can see her?” he asks, and Cole shakes his head.

He tries not to be too disappointed.

“Not really. But your mind makes an imprint, an echo. I can pretend. Do you want me to?” Cole asks, and Fitz is tempted. He misses her so much...

“Excuse me for asking, but do all spirits look like you?” Simmons asks Cole before Fitz can make a decision, and Cole shakes his head.

“You don't need to apologise. No, they don't. I look like me, like Cole. They look like them. Dorian says that they're ‘horrific little wisps of colour, really’, but that I look ‘almost normal’.” Cole speaks in a different voice when quoting ‘Dorian’, sounding more assertive and posh, like the people Fitz is used to hearing, albeit in a different accent.

Simmons gives a grin at this, but Fitz clings to one of the quoted phrases. “What do you mean, ‘almost normal’?”

“I left the Fade a long time ago because I wanted to be real. I thought I was, but then someone convinced me that I wasn't, so I stopped being real. I'm more real now, but not as real as everyone else. The Iron Bull and Varric say that I'm real anyway, and Solas and Dorian agree. But the Inquisitor always thought I was real.”

“What do you mean, you're not real?” Fitz asks, his voice sounding hollow in the (empty?) room. He ignores the other names, his mind clinging to the phrase. Cole seems distressed, his head dipping to hide his face under the brim of his hat.

“I'm sorry! I can be real, if you want me to, but spirits aren't meant to be real, because the Fade isn't meant to be real.”

“So- so you're not real, either,” Fitz states emptily. He thought-

“ _I thought I was logical, rational, finally being able to tell the difference._ I'm sorry! I don’t know how to help!” Cole seems genuinely distressed, and it isn't helping anything.

Fitz getting angry isn't helping anything, either, he admits to himself. Jemma is long gone, taken away by his mind, but Cole is still across the table, sitting in the chair. This is enough to give Fitz hope.

“...you can be real?” Fitz asks, uncertain. Cole seems to perk up, nodding, his hat wobbling.

“I'm more real, now. I wasn't before, but that's because they forgot me. My friends won't forget me, not unless I want them to,” Cole says, and he seems so sure of it that Fitz relaxes.

Why would he be so certain of people Fitz doesn't even know if he isn't real?

“You're right! Thank you. Real and not real is different for you, I see that now,” Cole says, before frowning. “Something happened. It hurt, and you couldn't breathe, and now it's all wrong. You're not you anymore, not really. But who else could you be? They need to learn to see you, not the difference.”

The words should hurt, tugging at the memory of dying at the bottom of an ocean and losing something, but Cole's right. He's still Fitz. Everyone else just has to catch up. It's nice to hear someone other than him say it.

“So, you'll be staying, then?” Fitz says after a time spent in companionable silence, beginning to pack up his equipment so that he can move on to another experiment.

He isn't getting anywhere fast, and as much as it irritates him, the constant focus isn't increasing his likelihoods of advancing. He spares a glance at the clock, realising that he hasn't eaten in hours, and decides to take a brief break and detour to his room to collect a jacket for later.

“I want to help,” Cole says, looking up from the glowing liquid and leveling his gaze on Fitz. He feels open, bare, and slightly relieved that someone else, someone that's real, can understand him.

“And that means…?” Fitz prompts as he opens drawers and places away the stirring rod and the welder, before moving over to the experiment cabinet and placing his ongoing project in there.

“It means that I'll go away, if you want me to,” Cole says with surprising honesty, and Fitz wants nothing more in that moment than to ensure that nothing ever happens to make Cole leave.

“Do you have this effect on everyone?” he asks, not entirely joking, and Cole seems to think about the question seriously.

“No, not really. I help, and then they forget. But the Inquisitor likes talking with me, and Solas finds me fascinating,” Cole says before continuing, “I'm glad that you want me to stay. That means I can help more.”

“Can they see you?” Fitz asks, before feeling foolish.

“If they want to. Spirits are different for people. Your friends will want to see me if you tell them. You're different, but they want you to be okay, even if they don't really understand. Everyone needs to be more patient,” Cole informs him.

Fitz feels a pang of hurt when he remembers the mutters about wanting the “old Fitz” back, as if he'd gone somewhere. She was the one that had left, they were the ones that had forgotten.

“You haven't gone anywhere. I don't understand,” Cole admits.

“Neither do I,” Fitz says, both frustrated and sad.

He cleans up the bench as Cole stands, placing the glowing tube back on its rack and waiting awkwardly.

“Is there- I mean, do you-?” Fitz says disjointedly, and he feels dumb before Cole shakes his head.

“I don’t eat. I can stay in the lab, you don't have to worry about me,” Cole says gently, but Fitz mimics the spirit's previous action, shaking his head.

“You can come with me. If I'm the only one that knows you exist, that makes you my responsibility. As long as you don't cause any trouble, I'll be fine,” Fitz says.

If anyone saw Cole and remembered him… Coulson would need to be told, but unless he had Simmons... Fitz gets the feeling that she isn't coming back, and there's a pain in his chest that feels like the air's been punched out of him.

“I understand. I can't talk to anyone here until they know, because I'm not meant to be here. I'll find other ways to help,” Cole promises, and Fitz furrows his eyebrows.

“What kind of spirit are you that you spend so much time helping people?” he asks, not unkindly.

Cole seems to brighten, as if he were a child being asked about his favourite toy. “I'm compassion, but more, because I'm Cole, too. I help people. That's why I stayed with the Inquisition, because the Inquisitor wants to help people.”

“Who is the Inquisitor, anyway? You've mentioned them a few times,” Fitz asks as he begins walking out of the lab and up the stairs, Cole following closely behind him.

“The Inquisitor is my closest friend. He spends a lot of time being sad and worried, his hand glimmering and glittering like the Fade, grating on nerves and granting unwanted power. He makes difficult choices because no one else wants to, but he helps people more than anything else. He forgot something, like noises and nuances and a Nightmare, black and choking. We were trying to help him remember, but something went wrong, and we fell through the fracture,” Cole explains as they walk, moving up to Fitz’s side.

It sounds like something out of a story, but Fitz has seen enough to fill a story, so he takes the tale in a literal stride, nodding at the explanation. They wind their way through the people that they see, and Fitz takes a small amount of comfort that they don't question him.

“What's the Nightmare? Another spirit?” Cole's face darkens like a cloud passing over the sun, but his voice is frantic and pleading. “He said he was like me - no, worse, that I was like him. I'm nothing like him. I take memories to help people, but he takes them to hurt, gluttonous and gorged, forcing and fragmented. He’s a demon, damaging, tainted and torn, corrupted and cruel. He deserves to die.”

Cole has stiffened, straightened out of his slouch, and he's taller than Fitz had thought he was. If Cole, who had shown nothing but kindness to him, thought that this nightmare deserve to die, Fitz was inclined to believe him. Fitz asks him about the others names he had heard, Varric and Dorian, and Cole brightens and describes a dwarf (not just a short person, apparently, an actual dwarf) that spends most of his time writing stories in his head and a mage, with actual magic, who dresses in bright clothing and is quite handsome, apparently. Fitz barely notices travelling back to his room, but starts when he sees Coulson standing at the end of the corridor, waiting for him to return, he hides, slightly, and Cole follows.

“Who is he?” Cole asks, and Fitz looks towards Coulson, worried. But he doesn't even notice the statement. Cole makes a noise of realisation, and apologises.

“What is it?” Fitz asks, and Cole seems embarrassed, sad, confused.

“He really doesn't want to see me,” he says, sad. “It makes more sense without me. I shouldn't be here, I don't think I can make him see me.”

“It's not your fault. He's been through a lot,” Fitz asks, and Cole pauses and nods his head.

“I can feel it. He's hurting, hiding, hunting. There's too much to do, too many people to find. He's worried about you, but his guilt has her shape. He knows something- wait, no, that's not right!” Cole frowns suddenly.

“What's not right? Is something wrong with Coulson?” Fitz asks, concerned.

“Yes… I can't find it, though. But he needs help,” Cole says firmly, and Fitz looks at Coulson.

He takes in the worry lines, the slight frown, the crumpled clothes. He can't deny that Cole has a point.

“Wait,” Fitz begins, and Cole gives him an undivided attention he hasn't had in awhile.

“You said Coulson needed help. Can you help him?”

“Yes, of course I can,” Cole counters, his tone curious.

“Okay, good, good, that's good,” Fitz mutters. “But I need to…”

“You need to introduce me to him, yes. He'll understand, but he'll be slightly skeptical at first. I'll be there. Don't worry.”

Fitz nods, distracted, thinking about how he's going to tell Coulson. He would need to say it in private, to avoid any undue embarrassment from the encounter, and he would need… Cole. Someone to give him words.

 

“I can do that,” Cole says, pleased. He pauses, as if listening for something. “He's started to worry. He saw the feed, and left as you did. You should be back by now.”

Fitz nods again. “He can't see you, right?”

Cole shakes his head. “Not until he wants to. His mind is… different, like prodding and poking and something with too many risks. If you want me to be real enough, he'll want me to be real, too.”

Fitz nods, not trusting his voice as Coulson modifies his posture, preparing for... something.

“Agent Coulson, sir,” Fitz says, his fingers fidgeting as he walks towards Coulson. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Coulson blinks, seeming surprised, before his face relaxes and regains the almost constant smile he had worn on the bus. Before… the accident.

“Yes, actually. But first, how are you doing?”

Fitz pauses, his mouth forming aborted words and statements. He doesn't know how well he’s doing, now that he actually thinks about it.

“Tell the truth. He wants to know,” Cole says from beside him before frowning. “Oh. You don't know, you can't tell. Sorry.”

Fitz shakes his head slightly, deciding to go with what Simmons and Cole had told him.

“I'm getting better, I think. I've found someone that- that-” he breaks off, wiggling his fingers in Cole's direction.

“That can help,” Cole suggests softly, and Fitz repeats the statement.

“You've found someone that can help? Who is it?” Coulson asks, his tone calm and curious.

“He wants to know the truth. He isn't going to hurt you,” Cole tells Fitz, and he feels an anxiety he hadn't even noticed lessen.

“He found me, in the lab. But he's not- not-”

“Dangerous.”

“Dangerous, or going to hurt anyone. He just wants to help.” Fitz is fidgeting even more, and his eyes follow Cole as the young man moves away from him slightly, closer to Coulson, and brushes his hair out of his eyes - or, at least, Fitz assumes he does underneath the hat.

“I want to believe you, Fitz, but-”

“That's good!” Cole interjects, and Coulson turns to him immediately, unable to keep the shock from forming on his face. “That makes explaining much easier. Thank you.” Coulson pulls out an icer and aims it at Cole while stepping back, a perfectly smooth movement. Cole, in turn, steps away from Coulson, his posture relaxed but wary. Fitz himself moves forward, in between Cole and Coulson, his hands held up as if it could diffuse the situation.

“Fitz, we don't know who he is. He could be a threat,” Coulson explains calmly, “Please get out of the way.”

“No- no, I'm not moving. Can- can we just- just have a-”

“ _Rational discussion, don't hurt him, please don't hurt him, Simmons is gone and I need him to explain, please, he can help._ You're… protecting me. I don't need you to do that,” Cole continues from behind Fitz, his voice slightly awed.

Coulson’s eyes dart between the two of them, his mouth thin and face determined. Then he puts down the icer and Fitz feels like collapsing in relief. Cole places a hand on his shoulder and Fitz places his own over it, blinking hard. Coulson's eyes are soft when he sees the movement, but harden slightly as he looks at Cole.

“We'll need to take you in for questioning, to make sure you're not a threat,” he says, and Fitz looks back to see Cole's nod.

“ _He can't handle this again, not again, not without her. There's something off, something different, something dangerous. Why couldn't I see him?_ I understand. I'm not going to hurt anyone,” Cole tells Coulson, and Fitz almost doesn't notice the tensing of Coulson's shoulders over the rush of anger he feels at the first statement.

Just because Ward- Cole’s hand falls away from Fitz’s shoulder. Fitz turns back to see as his eyes brighten in recognition before they seem to turn an almost stormy grey, green flickering behind them.

“ _He seems sad but we're falling. Peacefully sleeping, please don't wake up. Impossible, no way out, walls closing in. A broken window, shattered glass and a rush of water, drowning and darkness_ ,” Cole pauses, then his voice hardens, colder than ice, "He shouldn't have done that.”

Fitz swallows, biting back tears and panic at the memory. Ward, why would Ward have done that? He thought they were friends, thought he cared about him, thought-

“Oh, no, I'm sorry!” Cole apologises frantically.

Fitz waves the statement away with one hand as he rubs at his eye with the palm of the other. He steps back so that he has them both in his view, syncing his breathing with the steady movements of Cole's chest, his eyes on Cole's feet as he examines the strange footwear.

“We're going to find out how you know about that,” Coulson says to Cole in a dangerously calm tone, before he begins walking towards the testing chamber that contains the lie detector.

Fitz stands up straight and follows, Cole at his side. Coulson catches Billy's attention on their way to the chamber, and he looks curiously at Cole before shrugging and following. People watch as they walk past, and Fitz fidgets at their questioning stares. But Cole seems to be faring far worse. He's hunched in on himself, his head lowered so that his hat brim covers all of his face down to his lips, which are pressed together tightly.

“Are you okay?” Fitz asks, and Cole lifts his head up slightly.

“Staring, sticking, catching; they can all see me. They don't want it to be you, so it has to be me. I'm not used to people seeing me, and they need to remember so that it doesn't hurt,” Cole admits and Fitz nods.

“Ah. That makes sense, actually.”

Cole laughs softly, and Fitz smiles. They walk in silence until they reach the room, and Coulson gestures for Cole to go in.

“Uh, do you mind, sir, if I go in, too?” Fitz asks hesitantly, and Coulson adjusts his posture as he contemplates the question.

“It shouldn't interfere with the results at all, Agent Coulson - in fact, it will likely lead to a more accurate reading if… Cole, did you say? had someone that he trusted in the room,” Billy explains as cheerfully as ever, and Coulson looks at Cole (whose face is still hidden by his hat) before nodding.

The four enter, and Billy sits Cole in the chair as he explains what the machine does, a lightness in his step despite the circumstances.

“Do I have to take off my hat?” Cole asks upon being requested to do so, and Billy smiles encouragingly.

“It won't fit in the headrest. Sorry about that.”

“I'll take care of it,” Fitz says as Cole's head tilts downwards. He lowers it further in a nod, and takes off the hat before moving to sit in the chair.

Fitz takes a moment to look at Cole without the hat obscuring his vision. His face is pale and thin, cheekbones accentuated. His white-blonde hair falls over his eyes and brushes his shoulders, perfectly straight. His eyes seem even more bruised in the harsh light, and it suddenly strikes Fitz that Cole looks even younger than himself. He can't be older than, what, 22? Fitz thinks to himself, and he's not sure what to do with the information, or what it means.

“To begin with: what's your name?”

“My name is Cole.”

“And your last name?”

“Cole didn't want his father's name.”

“Why the third person?”

“Third person?” Cole pauses, confused, before he continues, “Oh! Cole was Cole before I was Cole, but I'm Cole now. No, you're confused, sorry. There was a Cole, but I couldn't help him. So I became him, to help more people.”

“You're, what, a parasite?” Coulson interjects.

“No, I'm a person. But I was a spirit of compassion first.”

Billy laughs softly, shaking his head. “It's confusing, but it isn't a lie. You'll have to get more of an explanation after these questions. Next question; what's your eye colour?”

“Blue. Blue or grey. But it's green behind them, like tears in the veil and a stolen anchor.”

“Have you ever been married?”

“No.”

“Please list your immediate family.”

“I don't have one. Do my friends count? I can list them.” Fitz could list some of them, too, but not all.

“You don't have a family?”

“Cole’s father is dead. He killed him. I'm not sure about the others, but I don't think they're alive,” Cole answers simply.

Fitz inhales and exhales, decidedly calm, at the lack of emotion. He can see, now, how Cole isn't actually Cole. A small part of him reminds him that Cole wouldn't have killed anyone unless they deserved it. He would rather not think about what Cole's father could have done to deserve death.

“How old are you?”

“Blackwall asked that question, too,” Cole says, a roguish smile on his face, “I said that I didn't know, and he said that he wouldn't be able to tell, either, because he's never seen a rogue with a beard. The Inquisitor sometimes says that he's stolen them all, and that's why none of our friends have them.”

Fitz can't hide his smile at the statement, at the cheerful story about Cole's friends. He seems overjoyed to have them, and Fitz wonders if he had any before meeting the people he's mentioned to Fitz.

“What's the difference between an egg and a rock?”

“The egg gives life, but doesn't take it. The chickens don't like it when you take the eggs away, but Cassandra likes the cakes.”

Fitz raises his eyebrows at the answer. It’s a lot simpler than the one he thought of, but still complex in a philosophical way that he doesn't usually pay much attention to. And the mention of Cassandra is new.

“Have you ever heard of Project Insight?”

“No, but you know about it. I could tell you, if it helps.”

“No, I'm fine. The next question we'll skip… you wash up on a deserted island, alone. Sitting on the sand is a box. What's in the box?”

“How much of the island is sand?”

“Doesn't matter. Just tell me the first thing that comes to mind.”

“The Inquisitor. He lets me borrow their shoes with the buckles when there's lots of sand. The laces don't listen to me.”

Fitz smiles at the answer. Coulson glances over at him, a soft look on his face that seems like pity.

“This is a secret bunker in which we're rebuilding a government agency that has been labeled a terrorist organisation. How did you get in here?”

“I woke up in here. There was an accident, a tearing, a tremor. Something tore, and we fell through. I fell here. There's lots of metal. Varric would like it here.”

Coulson moves over to Billy, and whispers something to him that Fitz doesn't catch.

“Okay. Why did you stay here?”

Cole looks down at his lap, almost seeming… embarrassed. His eyes flicker towards Fitz, and he smiles in a way that he hopes is encouraging. Cole nods, but keeps his head down.

“I stayed to help Fitz. And other people, too. But Fitz hurts the most. I want to help.”

The room is silent after this admission, and Cole begins swinging his legs, staring in fascination at the floor. Fitz is looking down, too, but Coulson and Billy seem to be sharing some information via psychic link from the way they're staring at each other.

Coulson moves forward to sit at the table, and Fitz looks up after seeing the movement in his periphery.

“Well, Cole, you've checked out in the psychological evaluations. Now we just have a few questions,” Coulson explains pleasantly, and Cole nods, legs still swinging.

“Tell me about your friend - the Inquisitor, right? Who is he?”

“The Inquisitor is the leader of the Inquisition. He makes it into a thing, instead of just people. We're not from here, but he tore through the Fade and we fell here. Fitz thought something about an alternate dimension. Also holes and worms.”

Coulson's mouth twitches in a smile, and Fitz grins. “What's the Inquisition?”

“Cassandra created it. We're trying to save our world.”

“Aren't we all?” Coulson murmurs, and Cole's expression grows sad.

“I'm sorry. It wasn't your fault. There was nothing you could do. It was always going to happen, but you were able to stop it before it hurt more people. That's what matters. You'll be better. You won't make the same mistakes they did.”

Coulson blinks, and Fitz feels uncomfortable when he sees that his eyes are watery. He says a slightly choked, “Thank you,” and coughs, before continuing; “You mentioned you were a spirit of compassion. Tell me about that.”

“Spirits are created by the Fade to mirror the real world. I was created to be compassion, to help people. But I forgot, and became wrong. I hurt people. I was a demon, instead of a spirit. I'm better now, but if I ever hurt become like that again, you have to kill me.”

“Wait, what?” Fitz interjects, and the occupants of the room look at him in unison. “I mean- no, no way, we’re not killing anyone.”

Cole frowns, disapproving, before looks back at Coulson. “Promise me that you won't let me hurt anyone.”

Fitz’s face falls, and he feels a burst of anger for Cole’s disregard for his own life. Surely there’s a level between ‘not do anything’ and ‘kill Cole’. Coulson, however, seems begrudgingly approving.

“If you do, I'll detain you. Then we'll decide what to do with you,” he asserts.

Cole nods reluctantly (he wants to be killed, Fitz realises sharply) before asking, “Can I have my hat back now? Oh, no, sorry, you have more questions.”

“Yes, I do. Do you know anything about Hydra?”

“No? Wait, yes. There’s a lot of hurt. Fitz doesn’t want me to talk about it.”

“Wait, so you’re saying you know about Hydra?” Coulson is immediately suspicious, reaching for his icer, but Fitz steps forward.

“You said there was hurt. Is that the psychic thing, or something?” he asks, and Cole nods.

“It hurt you. He hurt you. ‘I know you care about us, Ward’.” Cole’s voice has Fitz’s accent as he quotes him, and the words and memory hit him like a punch to the chest. He steps back as Cole continues, staring directly at Coulson.

Fitz focuses on his breathing, wishing that Simmons was there. His chest constricts, as if he’s back at the bottom of the ocean, and he wonders if he’s dying. An absent part of him tells him that it’s just a panic attack, nothing to worry about, and he tries to focus on the real world, on Cole, who’s still speaking.

 _“But he was just a head, another head, another head. You scare it, it hides, and you can’t find it. Can’t trust anyone, can’t let anyone in, are they another head? I can’t let it fall apart this time, can’t let it hurt anyone._ I only know what hurts you. Let me help,” Cole pleads, and Fitz runs his fingers through his hair, holding the back of his neck as he looks at the floor, his breathing heavy and unstable.

“He’s telling the truth,” Billy remarks, a soft awe in his voice, “He hasn’t fluctuated at all, he’s perfectly stable.”

“That can’t be right,” Coulson says, his voice uncertain.

Fitz looks up through his panic to see him staring at Cole, who’s returning the look curiously, but unwaveringly. At least, unwaveringly until his eyes widen and he looks at Fitz, quickly taking in his posture before Cole’s moving, a smooth and quick motion, standing before Fitz before anyone notices that he’s left the chair. Fitz starts and steps back, hands moving off his neck in shock, and Cole lets him still before placing his hands on his shoulders, slowly and tentatively. Fitz allows him, his head bent forward, focusing on breathing.

“It’s okay. You can breathe. Focus on what is here,” Cole says soothingly, and Fitz clings to the words, trying to stifle the panic.

Cole begins whispering to him, murmuring about a forest full of trees reaching towards the light, or something. Fitz isn’t really sure of the details, but it takes a few minutes for him to calm down again, instead of the half hour it usually takes Simmons to effectively distract him. Fitz nods, and Cole removes his hands, moving back and revealing Coulson holding his icer.

“You can shoot me, if it makes you feel safer,” Cole suggests sincerely, and Coulson shakes his head, putting away the gun.

“I can’t say I entirely expected this when I came to speak with you, Fitz, but I can’t say that it’s an entirely unwelcome turn of events,” Coulson informs Fitz.

“I didn’t really expect any of this, either, to be quite honest, sir,” Fitz acknowledges.

“You have more questions, Coulson,” Cole comments, “You can ask them.”

Fitz looks toward Coulson, who furrows his brow in thought briefly. “I just want to ask one more thing, for now. Just in case.”

Cole sits back in the chair, relaxed, before he frowns. “You want to see if I- no, I’m not that, I’m Cole! I- I’m not going to hurt anyone! Stop it, please!” Cole’s breathing becomes heavy as he becomes more distressed, his voice rising in pitch and volume. His eyes close, his head dipping to hide under a hat he’s no longer wearing. He's still muttering protests, his breathing shaky. Is he? Fitz is forgetti-

“Stop it!” Fitz yells, “Whatever you’re thinking, stop it! What are you doing?!”

Cole doesn’t deserve this, he thinks angrily. He’s not going to hurt anyone.

As if the thought had triggered a switch, Cole relaxes. Fitz blinks as Cole solidifies as a presence in the room and his mind, and he realises how close he'd come to forgetting him entirely.

“I’m sorry. I upset you,” Cole says, looking towards Fitz with open and curious eyes.

Fitz opens his mouth in surprise. “You just- and you’re worried about me?!” he says incredulously, and Cole’s eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“You don’t need to worry. But thank you for caring,” Cole comments, seemingly unaffected. But Fitz doesn’t miss that his voice shakes on the thank you, and that his head is bowed again, hair hiding his eyes. “Can I have my hat back, now?”

“Of course. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry, Cole,” Coulson allows apologetically, but Cole shakes his head.

“You needed to know to believe me. But you could have just asked,” he says, the consonants biting and bitter.

Cole slips out of the chair, his shoulders bowed inwards as if he could hide from everything just by willing it. Fitz feels slightly worried when he remembers that he almost did.

“Can he come back to the lab, with me?” Fitz requests, and Coulson seems hesitant before he nods.

“He’ll be your responsibility. Don’t let him get into any trouble. And he’ll need this,” Coulson says, handing Cole a lanyard. Cole looks at it, confused for a moment, before placing it around his neck, fidgeting with the part of it that touches his skin.

Fitz nods, and gestures for Cole to follow him. As they walk out the door, unaccompanied, he hands Cole’s hat back to him, and Cole places it on his head with a grateful smile.

“Thank you,” he breathes, his face happy.

Fitz smiles back, pleased that he can at least do something for Cole. He leads him in silence back to his room, and he grabs a jacket for when the temperature, for some unknown reason, drops in the evening. They walk to the kitchen, and Fitz makes himself a simple sandwich as Cole looks curiously at the different machines in the room.

"Are you sure-?"

"Yes, Fitz," Cole says, "But thank you."

Fitz nods, before wrapping the sandwich in baking paper and walking back to the lab, eating it as he goes. Cole follows, a step behind, humming the tune stuck in Fitz's head on a loop. When they get back to the lab, Cole begins looking around, examining the equipment but not touching any of it. Fitz soon grows accustomed to his presence as he works, not getting anywhere but making a valiant attempt all the same.

After a while, though, he grows exasperated with the task, and his mind wanders to Cole of its own accord.

“You have questions,” Cole comments, and Fitz starts.

“Uh, yeah, I do, if that’s okay. I’m just curious, I guess,” Fitz stammers, but Cole doesn’t appear to mind the poorly phrased request.

“I’m curious about you, too!”

“You can ask me questions too, if you want,” Fitz says, “But I’m really not all tha-”

“Really?” Cole asks brightly, interjecting, “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome?” Fitz says, his surprise turning the phrase into a question. He shakes his head, blinking his eyes to clear his mind. "Can you always do the psychic thing, or is it just hurt?"

"No. It has to be hurt, or a way to fix the hurt. That's what calls me. But it's more difficult, here. The Fade isn't as close," Cole explains, and Fitz finds himself nodding.

So, it has to be something to do with hurt, he thinks, beginning to figure out the science behind it. It must be something to do with the stronger brainwaves; fear and pain trigger a more obvious physical and chemical response, and heighten the energy of the body. That would lead to the thoughts, emotions and sensations becoming more obvious and easier to pick up on. It would make sense, too, that Cole would be able to pick up on positive emotions, too, if they were felt strongly enough.

"Oh, well. That's good. It would get awkward, otherwise," Fitz says slightly absently, distracted by his train of thought.

"People have a lot of hurt. And everybody wants help with something," Cole comments, his tone innocent despite the frustration that another would have attached to the words.

"You're right, there," Fitz acknowledges, thinking about the cloaking mechanism he was having so much difficulty creating.

Even so, he doubted someone from another world - where they carried knives instead of guns, apparently, and their clothes were made of proper fabric instead of synthetics - would be able to help much.

"Is there any way I can help?" Cole asks, curious.

"Do you know engineering, quantum physics, or the science behind cloaking?" Fitz asks, not unkindly, but not exactly with the highest amount of patience.

Cole pauses, his head lifting. "Cloaking… I know the magic behind something similar, but the Fade's weaker here, so it's more difficult."

Fitz’s mind halts, before backtracking. Magic? "There's no such thing as magic. At least, not here. It's probably just some kind of- some kind of-"

"Some kind of energy. But it's the Fade, Focus, dancing, doting, dipping between the worlds, pulled and pushed to the other side of the veil. That’s energy, too. I can show you how!" Cole seems truly excited, and Fitz can’t deny his interest.

"Yes, please."

Cole nods, pleased, his hat dipping. He pulls something out of an unseen pocket on his belt, a small vial swirling with a green substance. He throws it at his feet, and it shatters into nothingness as the green energy travels up Cole himself, causing him to vanish from sight, except for wisps of glowing green the same shade as the substance in the vial.

"That's... incredible,” Fitz murmurs, “Is the green-?”

“I’m the green. It only hides the physical,” Cole says, the energy swirling as he does so.

Fitz reaches out to poke him, nodding as his finger encounters resistance. “How long does it last?”

“Prodding, poking, perceiving. There’s something there. If they know, they can take it away,” Cole answers,

"Okay, until something counteracts the energy. Can you actually see? There’s no light reflecting off your corneas, meaning that you’re essentially blind,” Fitz points out.

“I’m not actually gone. The energy makes a shape that makes sense without me. I’m still here, you just can’t see me,” Cole clarifies.

“Do you have any more of those? I want to see if I can-"

“Replicate the energy,” Cole continues as he flickers back into view, pulling out another vial from his belt. “I understand. You need Focus. I won’t disturb you.”

“Thank you, Cole,” Fitz responds, taking the vial gently from Cole’s waiting hand, trying to not disturb the energy.

Cole smiles, pleased, and he returns to the metal he’d been fiddling with as Fitz walks over to the bench against the wall, melting through the glass of the vial and slowly pouring it into the chamber of one of the machines there so that he can analyse it without any escaping.

Fitz works silently for a few minutes, examining the energy. He hasn’t seen it before, not in this form, but he finds that it’s relatively easy to manipulate. It’s triggered by interaction with hydrogen, and its effects spread rapidly over whatever it comes into contact with, making the viewer see something that makes sense without it, as Cole had said. However, it’s bound to the thing it comes into contact with first, and can’t be transmitted by touch. It’s perfect, and just what Fitz needs to finish his device. He should have it done by the end of the day, he notes with a proud happiness. If only he could find...

"Here." Cole is at his side in an instant, handing over the tablet.

"Thank you. How did you-?" Fitz begins, but is interrupted by Cole’s answer.

"It was a way to help."

"Ah, yeah, okay,” Fitz pauses as he opens the app he needs, beginning to sketch out the blueprint. “This is incredible, this energy. I haven't seen anything like it. But it’s not very difficult-"

"Replicate."

"Using other energy, and this equipment is pretty advanced, so it didn’t take too long to-"

"Manipulate."

"It into a form that can be sustained by technology, with a relatively small- a relatively small power source. Thank you, Cole."

"You don't need to thank me. I'm just glad I helped."

"Yea, well, I want to. Thank you, that is," Fitz counters, placing down the tablet, the slightly modified diagram open.

“You’re welcome, Fitz.”

It’s only another hour before Fitz has the prototype cloaking device ready. When he finishes it, he steps back to lean against the opposite bench, staring at the small piece of technology.

“ _Clear, crisp, clean. I’m almost there_ ,” Cole observes with a smile, “Do you want me to stay behind when you go to meet Coulson?”

“What? No, I wouldn’t have been able to finish this without you,” Fitz says while shaking his head. There’s still a small, aching worry that if Cole leaves, Fitz will find out that he wasn’t real to begin with. He’s not sure he could cope with that, with being wrong again.

“You’re clever enough,” Cole tells him, and Fitz shakes his head.

“Being clever can only get you so far,” he admits.

He looks over at Cole, and his head is still tilted down, but less so that it was when he first appeared in the lab. What's visible of his face - his cheeks and nose and mouth, eyes still hidden by the brim of the hat despite the slight height difference - is kind, curious, innocent in a way that Fitz doubts anyone but Cole is. He isn't a child; far from it, Fitz adds mentally as he recalls the imptomptu psychology session, but he has the simple complexity of one.

“Fitz, you said I could ask questions,” Cole reminds Fitz, and Fitz nods, a small amount of regret beginning to seep into his chest. “Who’s Simmons?”

Fitz brings a hand up to his head in a pained but familiar gesture, rubbing at his neck as he contemplates how to answer the question. The regret rushes in full-force, reminding him of something he doesn't regret in the slightest. But before he can bring himself to say anything (What is he meant to say? That he loves her? That she gave up on him? That he’s not sure how long he can go on without her?) Cole exhales in a soft “Oh”.

“What is it?” Fitz asks, and Cole smiles, his face soft and eyes sad. He looks even younger.

“I've heard that hurt before. Anger tangled up with the love until it makes a knot that curls in your chest, hollowing you out. Dorian says that sometimes when you love someone, you think that it means that they won't hurt you. But sometimes love isn't enough,” Cole says, and the words seem to resonate somewhere within Fitz, and he has the sudden, reckless urge to destroy something.

Before he can even get a hold on his anger and the deep, cutting feeling of being abandoned, Cole has his hands on Fitz’s, the long figures slightly cold, but soothing.

“Destroying things won't help anyone,” Cole says firmly, and Fitz nods, a disjointed motion that has his head lurching.

Cole rests his hands on Fitz’s for a few more seconds before he retracts them, picking up the cloaking prototype delicately, as if it's something living and fragile. Fitz is glad that Cole is carrying it and not him - from what he's seen insofar as to indicate Cole's character, he seems much less likely to break it.

“Thank you for trusting me,” Cole states as Fitz begins leading him out the room, towards Coulson’s office. “This means a lot to you.”

“I trust you more than myself, at the rate I'm going,” Fitz replies in kind, and Cole seems slightly sad.

“It's okay for you to be angry, as long as it's at the people that deserve it. You're not one of them.”

Fitz, again, simply nods, choosing to keep quiet. He shrinks under the gazes of the other agents, and Cole does similarly at his side, his head lowering. They make it to Coulson's office without any casualties, but Cole had begun whispering the hurts of the people around them, as well as reassurances that they didn't hear, only ceasing once they find May walking out of Coulson's office, her face as neutral as it ever is. Cole is suddenly very, very still, uncomfortably so, and Fitz wonders what he's picking up in May's mind.

“How are you, Fitz?” May asks, and Fitz shrugs noncommittally.

“It's not your fault,” Cole says, and Fitz looks at him in slight alarm. “He's angry at you, but you were only following orders. You didn't have any other choice. He knows you care about him; he's just mad because everyone kept it a secret.”

May reacts to the avalanche of words with grace, raising a single eyebrow at the statements. “I take it that you're the boy Coulson was talking about, with the psychic abilities?”

“Yes? Maybe. I think so?” Cole answers hesitantly, shrinking under May’s amused stare.

May smiles, before turning her gaze on the small device Cole is still holding, drawn close to his chest as if it would be taken from him. Her smile fades and her brow furrows.

“Is that the cloaking device?”

“Well, it's the- the prototype,” Fitz affirms, and she nods.

“Coulson's still in there. He shouldn't mind being told the good news.” May tosses the words over her shoulders as she leaves, presumably for another training session with Skye.

As soon as she's out of sight, Cole and Fitz relax almost in unison, the latter releasing a sigh of relief.

“She has a lot of hurt,” Cole comments, “I helped with some, but she still carries the rest. It's like triggers and bleeding, a dark room and hands stained with red. She feels like Blackwall, but different. They were armed, too.”

Fitz is confused by the statement, but mentally pockets the name to ask about later. He walks with Cole up the stairs to Coulson's door, knocking once, quietly, and twice more to make up for it.

“Come in,” Coulson calls, and Fitz opens the door, glad when it doesn't creak.

“Back so soon, Fitz? Oh, and Cole. Wait, what have you got there?” Coulson is distracted but grows curious, moving towards the hesitant pair.

“I- well, we- it's, uh, the cloaking prototype,” Fitz stammers out as Cole presses the relatively small device into his hands.

Coulson nods, moving over to his desk and clearing out a place for the prototype, his face pleasant. Fitz places it down and waits, awkwardly, to be told to do something. He's used to having Simmons there to explain things, too.

“So, how does it work? In English, please,” Coulson prefaces, a smile lingering around the edges of his mouth.

“Well, I figured out how to make an energy transformer so that the device could convert electrical energy into a more specific type of chemical energy that Cole introduced me to, which essentially interacts with hydrogen to create a-”

“Filter.”

“That will hide whatever it’s attached to from sight,” Fitz finishes, “It's also quite easy to operate, even if it needs some time for the energy to spread out. But once we're sure it functions, I can work on making it more efficient.”

Coulson is actually smiling now, pride etched into his face. Fitz feels strange at seeing it, like he should be feeling something, but isn't.

“You mentioned Cole showed you something. What does he know, exactly?”

“I know lots of things, but you're not looking for those,” Cole informs Coulson, his face neutral of any expression.

“You tell me, then, what do you know that I'm looking for?” Coulson says, his face betraying the softness of the statement.

“I know how to kill people. They don't expect me to be there, so they don't think I am. I won't get in the way, and that makes me useful,” Cole says nonchalantly, before continuing, “But that's not all I know. I know more important things than that, but you don't really care about them.”

“Try me.”

“I know that everyone likes tea except Solas, and that the girls prefer honey - so does Cullen. Varric stays up late writing letters unless Cassandra or I remind him to sleep. Vivienne's homesick, and Sera missed her sketchpad until I found it for her. The Inquisitor calls me da’mi and ma nehn, and Solas told me what they mean, but he doesn't know I know. The Iron Bull has nightmares, but so does everyone else. Dorian will never admit it, but he likes the Inquisitor's outfit, even if it isn't as shiny as he's used to. May wishes that you would stop being so upset at her for caring about you, but she doesn't hold it against you, except for when it really hurts. Simmons left because she thought she couldn't help Fitz no matter what she did, and she wishes that she wasn't right.”

Coulson raises his eyebrows, but Fitz latches on to the last statement.

“You've never even met Simmons, how could you know what she thought?” he demands, turning to face Cole.

“Her hurt is tied to your hurt. It happens, sometimes. You're close, and that makes it easier to find where the other hurt is,” Cole explains simply, and Fitz wishes that he didn't feel so much like a-

“A lost sock? The Inquisitor keeps losing theirs,” Cole suggests, and Fitz nods, the motion slow.

“How did you learn how to kill people?” Coulson asks Cole, and Cole hesitates.

“They asked me to. I shouldn't have done it. Now there are lots, but they're hurting people. They deserve to die,” Cole explains.

“Ever used a gun?”

Cole shakes his head, before he stiffens. “No, no, never, how could you do that? How could- that's wrong,” he says vehemently.

“What's wrong?” Fitz asks, feeling lost.

“Knives are short, limited. So are swords, and bows, and staves, and Bianca. Guns are wrong, they don't fit. They shouldn't exist,” Cole says.

Fitz thinks about the amount of damage knives (and swords, to a lesser extent) have done, and compares it to the damage guns and ranged weaponry have caused. There is almost no comparison to be had with how much the latter overshadows the former, and Fitz thinks that Cole has a very good point.

“I wish,” Coulson says, “I'll ask May to show you how to use one. You should know, if you're joining SHIELD.”

“Am I going to be able to help people?” Cole asks.

“That, and more. We're going to save the world.”

“The Inquisitor could help with that. They're trying to save the world, too.”

Fitz pauses, his mind moving faster than he can care to keep track of it. If the Inquisitor had been the one to cause Cole to fall through the universes, so to say, then there was a high chance that…

“Cole, who was with you before you came here?” Fitz asks, and Cole's face lights up in joy.

“The Inquisitor, Dorian, and Varric. I know what you're trying to do. I can help,” Cole tells him, excited.

“I think I've missed something. Care to explain?” Coulson interjects casually.

“Cole came here through some kind of wormhole that this Inquisitor created. So, it stands to reason that the people with them would have come through, too. They should be nearby, actually. Is there any way to scan for energy spikes in the area?” Fitz asks, his mind quick at work.

“Yes, but why? What can they do for us?”

“If I'm right,” Fitz says, “They can do a whole lot. So are we going to find them, or not?”

Coulson pauses, and Fitz can see on his face that he's preparing to say ‘no’. But there must be something in the determined expression on his face, in his posture, in the amount of hope in Cole’s expression, because Coulson nods, a short, stunted motion, and turns to the screen.

“I'll send out agents to scan for disturbances, ask around it anyone’s se-”

Cole inhales sharply, and Coulson cuts himself off to turn to look at him as Fitz does.

“ _Burning, bright, bitter, bleaching the landscape. A throbbing hand, green piercing like a dagger. Where is everyone? What did I do? Where am I? It's cold, too cold, like stumbling through snow, chasing light and tears freezing on cheeks._ The Inquisitor, he's awake. The Mark is dull, darkening, dragging itself away. We have to find him!” Cole says urgently, face wrought with desperation, and Fitz looks towards Coulson.

Coulson nods, finishing the message and sending it with a touch of finality. “Fitz, grab Skye and May, as well as two other agents, just in case. They're coming here now, intercept them so that you get there faster. Cole, you go with them. Take some blankets with you. I'll work on finding the others.”

Fitz and Cole nod, Cole darting to the door in a practised to open it. They walk quickly, Fitz grabbing a blanket from the linen cupboard as they walk to meet May and Skye, who are a few corridors ahead.

“Fitz, what's going on? There was something about someone outside that we needed to get. Who's this?” Skye asks, jumping between topics as they get within earshot.

“Skye, this is Cole. He came here through a wormhole with a few of his friends, who are all somewhere outside in the snow,” Fitz explains, and Skye seems incredulous. “I'll explain more later, we really don't have much time.”

“Hello,” Cole says to Skye, his head lowered again, “Your name fits better than your old one. You should keep it.”

Skye looks at Fitz sharply, and he shakes his head and mouths ‘Later’.

There are agents standing at the door who follow them as they exit the base, and May nods coolly at them as they drop in behind Fitz and Cole. Skye drops back to replace Cole at Fitz’s side, and Cole moves forward, next to May. Fitz frowns as Cole adjusts the strap of one of his sheaths. It reminds him that he's armed only with an icer that May presses into his hand as they walk further into the snow.

Cole begins muttering under his breath, and Fitz catches fragmented statements as Cole subtly adjusts their path through the snow.

“ _Feels like… to fall off… Varric would… a joke… the cold is too cold… wish Dorian… here… my arm… going numb, I… hold my blade… ma vhenan, da’mi, ma nehn, ma falon…"_ Cole says softly, his voice sad but desperate, before he begins running through the forest.

His feet seem to barely leave imprints in the snow as Cole runs, and the rest of them follow. Fitz feels clumsy and awkward, glad he grabbed a jacket from his room as the cold wind bites at his nose, burning his eyes. He comes to a panting halt beside Skye, who's standing still at the edge of a small clearing, watching. There's no immediate danger to him, and everything seems more crisp in the cold, like splashing his face with water in the morning.

A figure is leaning heavily against a tree, his left arm hanging limply at his side as he hugs his body with their right. His hair is shorn short at the sides and back, the mop of curls on top of his head a dark, rich red. Any visible skin is pink from the cold, and his breathing is laboured. Ice glints on his cheeks, a stark contrast to the branching design tattooed on them in dark ink. His mouth is open, front teeth visible through the gap, his breath forming wisps on the air. Aside from his chest rising and falling as they breathe, they are perfectly still, eyes closed peacefully.

Cole approaches hesitantly, but not silently, his boots making a soft noise as they press into the snow. The figure’s - the Inquisitor's - eyes open, and the brilliant blue is harsh until he realises who's standing in front of them. The Inquisitor examines Cole, searching for injuries, before he literally falls into Cole, who catches him effortlessly.

Fitz and Skye start walking towards the pair, and Fitz feels like he's intruding when he hears the Inquisitor whisper "Cole” with such relief that his voice breaks. Nonetheless, he offers the blanket to Cole, who takes it wordless but appreciatively, wrapping the slight figure of the Inquisitor with it gently.

“Have you found the others?” The Inquisitor asks Cole, moving away regretfully and pulling the blanket tight around him with his right hand.

“N- no, sorry.” “Not yet.” Fitz and Cole speak in unison, and the Inquisitor looks at Fitz with curiosity.

“I don't recognise your accent. Where are we?” the Inquisitor asks, curious.

Fitz spares a moment to think on the Inquisitor's own unrecognisable accent.

“Not- not anywhere near where you came from,” Fitz answers, “Cole said something- something about you tearing the Fade. You created a wormhole or something.”

“Long story short, you ended up here,” May says, and the Inquisitor turns his gaze on her in turn. May returns the stare, face neutral apart from a small smirk playing around her lips.

“I was hoping more for an explanation as to where ‘here’ is, but the secrecy works, too,” the Inquisitor says, a faint tone of humour in his voice.

“We'll tell you after the psychological evaluation,” Skye promises, and the Inquisitor nods.

“I would ask you all for your names, but-” He's cut off as his limp hand flickers green, energy twisting and pushing though the glove, making a sickly cracking noise. He flexes his fingers, face contorting in pain as the green flares brighter.

“We'll take you back to the base and have a doctor take a look at your arm. Can you walk?” May questions purposefully, and the Inquisitor shakes his head ruefully.

“Not very far. Cole…?”

“You can lean on me,” Cole offers, and May looks between him and the Inquisitor before nodding.

“Fitz, you help him if he has any trouble. Let's get moving.”

With that, they begin trudging through the snow. Fitz walks beside the Inquisitor in silence, his eyes flickering right whenever he stumbles. Each time he does, Cole places his other hand on his shoulder gently, soothingly, whispering supporting statements as he holds onto him even more tightly. After a few minutes of walking, the Inquisitor practically falls over, and Fitz grabs onto him as Cole does, keeping him upright.

“Fenedhis,” the Inquisitor curses, using both Fitz and Cole to pull himself up again.

Fitz meets Cole’s eyes over the Inquisitor's head, and he gently lifts the still slightly limp arm, placing it across his shoulders. He tucks the blanket under the arm and the Inquisitor looks to him in wordless thanks. He smiles, but he can feel him vibrating with shivers, and he's far too cold for comfort.

“So, Fitz, how are you?” the Inquisitor asks loftily through chattering teeth.

“I, well, I’m not freezing to death,” Fitz replies lamely, and the Inquisitor laughs softly.

“That's good to hear. I haven't introduced myself - I'm Ghilan. Or Inquisitor Lavellan, if we're standing on ceremony," he says, rolling his eyes. 

“Both names fit," Cole says. "A guide for the guided, gentle and generous. It feels wrong to be called inquiring, but you tread softly."

The Inqui- Ghilan smiles slightly, before frowning. "The Mark isn't as bright here - is that how you can hear me?" he asks curiously.

"Yes! You don't mind me in your head. I'm glad," Cole says, pleased.

Ghilan nods, smile still present, stumbling slightly before returning to his constant pace, his legs seeming to walk of their own accord. Fitz has the feeling that this isn't the first time he's walked, injured, in such conditions.

“'Fitz', is that... no, you're human. Do you have a, uh, a clan?” Ghilan asks, teeth chattering. Fitz thinks on the question. "Sort of. Is 'Lavellan' your clan name?" "Yes," Ghilan says, a hint of pride in his voice, "Clan Lavellan, of the Free Marches. Former hunter, current Inquisitor. How about you?" Fitz looks up from the snow at his feet to watch the path they're carving through the woods. "I'm an- an-" Fitz breaks off, clicking his fingers, before the word returns to him. “An engineer,” Fitz answers, almost triumphantly. Then he pauses. "I... design things? Mechanisms, and such. My frie..." he falters, before continuing, "my friend is a scientist. And we have lots of researchers other than myself." Ghilan nods, staring at his feet, his eyes almost closed in an attempt to block out the light reflected by the snow.

“I’m not going to pretend that I fully understand everything that entails," he says, "The Dalish, we don't really get the opportunity to learn formally. But our clan's aravels were quite intricate, so I'm not entirely ignorant. Being the Inquisitor, however, changes things. I've learnt so much already, more than I ever could have if the shem- if the nobles got their way." 

“You couldn't go to school because you're a Dalish?” Fitz asks.

Ghilan makes noises of indecision before admitting, "Yes. Luckily, Solas and Dorian know plenty, and I've yet to bore them with my endless questions."

Fitz lets his face form the shock that he's feeling. To not have gone to school seems… alien to him. To live in a clan seems even more so. He's not sure what to do with the information. Ghilan looks up at his silence and laughs softly at his expression.

“The Dalish are the only elvhen that still live on their own terms, and even then we've lost so much," Ghilan explains passionately. "The elves in the city are trapped in alienages or circles - I've seen the former first-hand. If I had been less careful, I would know the second, too. So, if you want to discuss anything more intellectually stimulating than, uh, the Fade or plants you can't recognise, you should talk to Dorian,” Ghilan advises, and Fitz nods.

The conversation fades as the door to the stronghold comes into their field of vision, and Fitz breathes a sigh of relief that's visible in the air.

He doesn't fully realise how cold he is until he steps inside and the door closes behind them. Fitz feels both incredibly sorry and worried for Ghilan - he’d been out there for hours, long enough for frostbite to set in, and long enough for the cold to permanently damage extremities. He can only hope that the others have fared better.

As if reacting to the change in temperature, Ghilan’s hand sparks to life and he collapses in on himself like a dying star, hitting Fitz on the back of the head as he retracts his grip. He hold his hand to his chest, their breathing harsh, and Cole flutters around him, slowly lowering him to the floor, muttering reassurances. Fitz steps back, watching nervously as one of the doctors moves closer to the fallen elf, quickly examining him.

“Take him to the medical ward, but don't put him in the stasis chamber unless he loses consciousness.”

Ghilan is carried away on a stretcher, his protests ignored. May begins walking in the direction of Coulson's office, but Skye follows the team to the medical ward, casting a worried glance back as Cole moves over to stand beside Fitz.

“The veil wants to be back, but it's trapped on him. The healers can't help him. But you can,” Cole informs Fitz, biting his lip.

Fitz wishes Simmons were here, but it isn't the time. Everything's happening too fast, he cries internally, and he lifts up shaking hands to run them through his hair and rest them on the back of his neck. Cole places his hands on his shoulders uncertainly, swallowing nervously, before he gathers Fitz up in a hug, the brim of his hat brushing the top of Fitz’s hair. He allows the embrace, returning it, forcing himself to relax. As soon as he does, Cole withdraws, a sad expression on his face.

“Tell me everything you know about the veil,” Fitz demands, not wanting to waste any time, as he heads towards the lab, his determined strides deterring anyone wanting to interrupt him.

“The veil is between the real world and the Fade. The Inquisitor says that it repels the Fade through vibrations.”

Cole's voice has changed, becoming as determined as Fitz feels, and he's relieved for the simplicity of the communication of information, despite the lack of precision or exact details. He'll take what he can get.

“And what's on his hand?”

“The mark, the Anchor. It's a key and a fragment. If it becomes too powerful, it tries to escape, but it's tied to him. It can seal the veil, but uses energy to tear it. It's unstable because the veil is strong here, like a wall around a castle.”

Fitz nods, flinging open the door to the lab and snatching his tablet from where it lies on the desk, searching for the molecular destabiliser. It isn't exactly what he needs, but counteracting the energy will use a similar technique, and he'd rather not have to solve it again. He just needs-

Cole flits around the room, collecting items as Fitz recognises that he requires them. He needs to create a device that can scan the mark and detect when the pulses are about to occur so that it can destabilise the mark by counteracting the energy from the Veil. If he's right, and he’s probably spot on, the energy from the Fade should be able to interact with the other energy, confusing it into believing that the veil, whatever it is, is as thin as it is where Ghilan is from.

It doesn't really matter how long it takes for Fitz to finish the device, but when it sits in front of him, simple and unassuming, he doesn't care about anything except it working.

“Can you take this to-?” he asks Cole, who nods almost frantically, his hat nearly flying off as he literally vanishes from sight.

Fitz collapses into the nearest chair with a sigh of relief which soon turns into a yawn. He can't let the tension out of his body, not fully, but he can let go of the constant anxiety that had plagued him since he'd been given the task of creating a cloaking mechanism. He'd done all he could.

Of all the things he had expected to happen when he'd woken up that morning, this was probably one of the last on the list. But his fatigue doesn't allow him to focus enough to categorise his thoughts or reflect on the recent occurrences, and he ponders whether a short nap would be beneficial in the long run.

“It's been a strange day,” he announces, fatigue tinging his words, to the empty lab. He closes his eyes and-  


* * *

  
Fitz wakes up in his room. He starts at the change of scenery, sitting up and pressing himself against the wall. Was it-?

His chest begins tightening in panic, but he stifles it as a sheet of paper on his bedside table catches his attention, and he picks it up cautiously. The majority of the letter is written in smooth, flowing handwriting, but the beginning of the sentences are written shakily, and some of the words are followed by blots where the ink was allowed to collect as the writer paused. There's a statement written below it in much simpler lettering, less neat in a controlled way.

_Thank you for your device, Fitz. It reminds me of Dagna's creations - complicated and beyond my understanding, but ultimately life-saving. Cole is incredibly grateful - expect to find an object you've been missing in the next few days. He has a penchant for finding those. Coulson has assigned us rooms, even though I'm still in the infirmary (and will be for the foreseeable future, to my dismay), and he says we’re to meet him after breakfast in the infirmary, at the tenth hour._

_Thank you again.  
_ _Ghilan._

 _You saved Ghilan. Thank you, Fitz.  
_ __\- Cole_ _

Fitz sighs in relief and, looking at the time, changes his clothes rapidly and rushes to the kitchen. He might be able to have some toast, if he's fast. As much as he thinks he could survive for weeks on the accomplishments of yesterday, he hasn't eaten anything other than a sandwich in 20 hours. And it wasn't even prosciutto and buffalo mozzarella with a hint of aioli.


End file.
